


Coat and Cowl

by iselsis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: "human" trafficking, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, First Meeting, Gen, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Steals the Batmobile Tires, Mer AU, No beta we die like Jason probably won't actually die because I like not killing Jason, Selkie Jason Todd, Street Rat Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Bruce Wayne is tracking a human trafficking ring dealing in children when he comes across a young boy stealing his tires.Selkie Jason Todd fic!
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & the Batmobile Tires
Comments: 268
Kudos: 597
Collections: Jason Todd Steals the Batmobile Tires





	1. Fated Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> The promised selkie fic! I _love_ selkie Jason Todd fics (if you haven't read Sealing the Deal by Syngaly, you are missing out on _art_ ) and I've decided to jump on the bandwagon with an adapted version of a plot from an urban fantasy series I'm working on. I hope you all like it!

They got away. _Again._

Two months before, the GCPD had rescued twelve young people, mostly children, from a new gang in Gotham while they were executing a search warrant on a warehouse suspected of being a meth lab. They’d found the drugs and the victims, but somehow, all twelve of the victims had disappeared immediately after their rescue. There was no record of who they were, or where they’d gone, or whether they’d run away or just been captured again.

They likely weren’t the only victims the gang had, either, so Bruce had spent the last two months searching for any information on child prostitution in Gotham, and cracking down on the gang itself. 

Unfortunately, his efforts had only caused them to go to ground and the trail had gone almost completely cold, and his first lead in weeks had turned to shit very quickly.

When he’d found them, moving goods in a windowless van from one location to another, he had hoped that it was a shipment of people. It wasn’t that he wanted there to be victims, but he knew that the victims were out there, and he wanted to save them. Witnesses, also, would help him find the leaders and bring them to justice, preventing future victims. 

Bruce had tagged the car and tracked them in the Batmobile from a distance. Close enough that he would arrive only shortly after they did to their destination, but far back enough that they’d never notice him. Once the tracker pulled to a stop outside a sleazy diner, he’d parked the Batmobile in an alley and slipped off to find the traffickers. 

They’d been more skilled than the average street brawler, a worrying sign, and worse, they had some kind of dart gun that could pierce even his suit. One of the men had managed to get in a lucky shot to Bruce’s leg with a dart laced in some kind of numbing agent. The effects weren’t instantaneous, but when the thugs got the idea that they were beat and had taken off, Bruce tried to chase after them and his leg almost collapsed underneath him. By the time he’d struggled to his feet, the gang was gone.

He opened the van.

Drugs.

Seizing a hundred or so pounds of drugs would have been a good night, but it only gave him a sense of dread. Drugs were like hydras on the streets of Gotham; whatever he found, more would replace the next night. If he had left these drugs alone, they would have been distributed, yes, but at least he wouldn’t have tipped the gang off to the fact that he was still chasing them. The more careful the traffickers were, the longer it would take to find those victims, and the longer they would be forced into horrific abuse. How many children would suffer because he had made the wrong call?

Bruce called it in, waited for the GCPD to arrive on the scene and take the drugs, then left. 

It took longer than it should have to get back to the Batmobile, with the rapidly spreading numbness in his leg and the bitter defeat he’d been forced to swallow.

Apparently, that was long enough for a child to remove and hide one of his tires, and be half way through getting a second off.

…What had that dart been laced with?

Surely, he had to be high, right? He didn’t think he was, though, but that would mean that there, in the alley below him, a small figure in a red jacket was twirling a tire iron and removing yet another bolt from his tire.

A little kid. 

Every few seconds, the boy would look over his shoulders, but he never thought to look up.

Bruce hesitated, not sure what to do or even how he felt. Was he amused, annoyed, or admiring of the sheer _audacity_ it would take to try to steal the tires off of what was obviously Batman’s car? An involuntary soft chuckle gave him his answer, but the longer he observed, the less funny it became.

Bruce couldn’t tell for sure, because the boy’s jacket – which he was wearing despite the fact that it was the middle of June – hung open and obscured his figure, but he looked far too thin, and his facial features were too hollow to be healthy. As the boy took off another bolt, he turned enough that the light from the nearby streetlight showed the state of his clothes. His shoes were obviously held together with duct tape, and the rips in his jeans did not look fashionable. His hair was matted too, his face grimy, and his clothes were filthy. An obvious street kid.

Street kids were nearly impossible to help, despite needing it so badly. Those who had homes often judged themselves safer without them, and they were often right, and those who had been through foster care had usually run for a reason. Even if Bruce were to hand the boy over to the police or social services, he would probably just run again. 

Worse, he might be placed in one of the mob foster homes. Those kids the GCPD had briefly rescued had likely come from foster parents who reported them as runaways after selling them off to the traffickers. Bruce couldn’t just blindly throw the boy into the jaws of the system while there was an active child trafficking ring in Gotham.

…The Martha Wayne Orphanage was safe. It was crowded, and the boy might try to run, but at least he would have been given the option of safety, and he wouldn’t be there long. It might take Bruce a few days, but surely he could find _one_ safe foster home, even in Gotham. 

With the plan made and an ever deadening leg that needed treatment, Bruce dropped to the mouth of the alley. It kept the light behind him and effectively blocked the boy’s escape, and though his leg nearly gave out, he’d expected it this time and was able to compensate as he stood.

The boy startled, falling backward onto the seat of his threadbare jeans.

“You do realize that’s the Batmobile, right?” Bruce said, a bit of the amusement creeping back in. 

The boy was _tiny_ up close, which made his recklessness all the more endearing. The missing tire was nowhere to be seen, and the mental image of the tiny child rolling a massive tire down the sidewalk had him biting the inside of his cheek.

The boy scrambled to his feet and spun on Bruce, brandishing his tire iron like a sword. His eyes were wide with panic, and his breath wild. 

Oddly enough, when the boy saw that it was only _Batman_ , the owner of the car he was jacking the tires off of and the Dark Knight, who was standing in the alley in front of him, he seemed to relax. The panic drained from his face and shoulders for just a moment before it was replaced with anger and _annoyance._

“Course I know what it is,” the boy snorted. “That’s why I’m stealing the tires. Penguin or Two-Face will pay a lot for these. Back off, they’re mine.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek harder to keep from smiling. The kid had a definite tough-guy attitude, and Bruce had a feeling that he didn’t realize how cute it was to get ultimatums from little kids.

Instead of ruining his image, he growled, “I think that you’re mistaken. Where’s the other one?” 

“Who said I took it?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow under the cowl. “You just called them yours and admitted to trying to steal them.”

The little boy shrugged one shoulder in a gesture of dismissal. “Doesn’t mean I took the first one.”

“It is strong circumstantial evidence,” Bruce pointed out.

“Words don’t count if they’re more than three syllables,” the boy argued, nonsensically, but with utter confidence. “Your circum-stuff can kiss my ass.”

Honestly, between the obvious skills with tires and his bravado, the boy had a bright future as a used car salesman ahead of him if he could get off the streets.

Speaking of _off the streets_ …

“Do your parents know you’re out here this late?”

The boy scoffed indignantly. “Who cares about them? Can’t you go fight a clown or something? I’m working here.”

The _nerve_ on that boy. Oh, Dick would love-

But Dick wasn’t there. He wasn’t talking to Bruce, either.

His amusement soured, and he forced himself to focus on the cold, hard facts instead of the bite of pain the reminder left. He had to get the kid to safety and then get back to the cave before the numbness in his leg could spread too far. Staying out in the open was dangerous for both of them.

“Where are your parents?” Bruce asked again, a bit more gruffly than before.

“I just said it doesn’t matter!” the boy snapped, though he seemed to have sensed the change in Bruce’s mood. He started casting his eyes around for an escape route, and adjusted his grip on the iron. “You’re just gonna try and toss me at the police, anyway!”

Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to scare kids, but he was doing just that. The bravado was slipping leaving a belligerent, but more direct and obviously rattled child. Bruce still had to move quickly for both of their safety, but he needed to convince the boy that he was safe before he’d have a chance. It made him miss Dick even more; Dick had always been better with people than he was.

“I’m not giving you to the police,” Bruce promised.

The assurance had the opposite of the intended reaction. The boy’s face paled and he took a quick step backward, his hands trembling despite the white-knuckled grip he had on the tire iron. “What are you going to do with me? I- I’ll fight you!”

Bruce frowned and took a half step forward, but that only made the boy yelp and swing the iron at him. There were still several feet between them, but the point was made. 

Bruce took a full step back and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I would just rather take you to your parents than the police. Is that an option?” 

The boy glanced from Bruce’s hands to his face and back, then shook his head and whispered, “No.”

“Why is that?”

“M-my mom’s dead,” the boy said, his voice going suspiciously low and thick. He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “She got real sick.”

“And your father?”

The boy scowled and glared at Bruce, rubbing his eyes more quickly like he wanted Bruce to know that the tears were _not_ for his dad. “I won’t go back to him. He’s probably in jail again anyway, so thanks for that.”

Bruce nodded, not pressing further. The boy had obviously run for a reason, and Batman didn’t mess with non-violent offenders. If Batman had put the man in jail, then he was a bad influence at best, and abusive at the worst and more likely.

“I see. Maybe we can come to an agreement between ourselves, then. Can you tell me your name?” 

The boy looked Bruce up and down, then retreated another half step before his shoulders slumped. 

“Jason.”

“Is there anymore to that?” Bruce asked, not even sure that the name he’d been given was true.

‘Jason’ scowled again. “No.”

“Alright, then. Where do you live?” 

“None of your business,” Jason snapped.

Stubborn. And still a bit cute.

The stubbornness coming back might be a good sign, so perhaps Jason was believing again that Bruce wasn’t going to hurt him.

“But you’re not in foster care?” Bruce doubted that he was, but he still had to check.

Jason, apparently not very good at thinking things through, scoffed. “Of course not.”

This time, Bruce let himself smirk slightly. “So, homeless.”

Jason’s jaw dropped comically as he realized that Bruce had played him like a child’s menu word search. “That’s cheating!”

Bruce chuckled. No one would believe Jason that he’d stolen a tire off of the Batmobile and lived, so it probably wouldn’t hurt his image too much. “It’s not cheating. It’s using your opponent’s weakness against him.”

Jason clearly did not agree, but he just scowled again. “Now what?”

Bruce considered. Jason was definitely malnourished, but not enough that he’d need a hospital. Jason’s reaction to the notion of being in foster care was a bad sign. Jason would run, given the chance, no doubt about it. A group home would have better security than the average foster home, but they’d still have to be vetted. In the wake of Ma Gunn’s arrest and the closure of her ‘school,’ Bruce had lost faith in the foster system entirely. His original plan of bringing him to the orphanage until he could find a better option stood, then.

“You give me back my tire, and I’ll get you some food and find you somewhere safe to stay,” Bruce proposed.

“I’m safe on my own, and it’s _my_ tire!” Jason growled. “And I’m not going anywhere with _you_!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Jason. I can find you a safe foster home, or a place in a group-”

“No!” Jason flipped from angry to panicked like Two-Face’s coin. “I’m not going to the system to get trafficked! Let me go!”

Bruce’s leg spasmed slightly as the numbness hit his knee. He didn’t have time to argue with Jason. The boy was too young and reckless to be left on his own, and if Bruce didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t be able to walk.

He stepped toward Jason, trying to hide his limp, one hand stretched toward him. “You-”

Jason screamed and swung the tire iron directly into Bruce’s weak knee.

If it hadn’t been for the drug, Bruce could have taken the blow and still grabbed the boy. In fact, if it weren’t for the drug, he wouldn’t have even been in such a rushed situation in the first place. As it was, though, his leg crumpled underneath him, and he nearly went down completely.

Jason dashed around Bruce, but sharp reflexes and panic moved Bruce’s arm before his mind caught up. His hand closed around the boy’s hoodie, but Jason pulled his arms out and kept running.

He’d lost him.

Bruce turned slowly, fully expecting to see an empty alley in front of him, but Jason had stopped only about ten feet away, his hands covering his mouth and his wide, horrified eyes locked on his jacket.

Stunningly, Jason took a half step toward Bruce, not taking his eyes off the red jacket in Bruce’s hand.

“G-give it back,” Jason whispered, his hands muffling his plea. His eyes, wet with absolute terror, flicked to Bruce at last. “P-please, i-it’s mine, you have to-”

Jason’s breath hitched with a wet sob, and he took another step forward, one hand slowly reaching for the jacket.

Bruce almost handed the jacket over to the boy, just because of the startling and intense emotional reaction its absence was causing, but then he’d have no leverage to get Jason somewhere safe. He was not in a state physically to chase Jason at that moment, and he couldn’t let a child – how old, ten? Eleven? – run off into the most dangerous parts of Gotham alone.

Options were limited for children on the street. Drug running, gangs, prostitution, or even just stealing tires. All of them were extremely dangerous and had high mortality rates, especially for children. It was unacceptable, and Bruce would do anything in his power to keep Jason from it. He wasn’t above forcing people to do what was good for them, even if they didn’t like it, whether that was forcing a delirious gang member to the hospital for a gunshot wound, or dragging small children kicking and screaming into safety.

“Jason, I’m trying to help you. I’ll give you back your jacket, but you have to get off the streets,” Bruce explained as calmly as possible.

“No! I’m fine, I’m safe! Please, let me go! Just give me my jacket, please, and I’ll give you back your tire and I’ll never steal again!” Jason begged, more and more desperate until he was almost sobbing at the end. Tears cut fast tracks through the grime on his cheeks, and any trace of that tough kid who mouthed off to him was gone.

“As long as you’re on the street, you’ll _have_ to steal again to survive. I’m not going to hurt you, Jason. Just co-”

“No!” Jason shrieked and slammed his hands over his ears. “No! I’m not a whore! Don’t touch me!”

The exclamation startled Bruce, and he took a concerned step forward, making Jason scream again and stumble back several steps with his hands still clenched tight over his ears. The terror in his eyes was feverishly bright, and his eyes flicked back and forth between his jacket and Bruce’s face. 

“Jason-”

“No!” Jason sobbed. 

With a final, desperate look at the jacket in Bruce’s hand, Jason turned and ran out of the alley. Bruce tried to follow, but the numbness hit his hip and ankle at the same time and he landed on the ground, hard. For the second time that night, by the time he picked himself up, the person he was chasing was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!  
> Being an English major, like: *physically cringing* You have to do it. *more cringe* You have to. *dies inside* Just do it. *types 'try and'* Stupid Jason and his stupid in-character bad grammar.  
> Next up: Rooftop Encounter chapter two!


	2. An Unexpected Reappearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two! Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos! They're so encouraging!  
> Me: Yay, I'm nearly done with this! I just have to go back and edit a few things and then I can upload it!  
> Also me: *decides that it sucks and needs to be almost completely rewritten and refuses to stop until it's finished at six am* nailed it

Bruce’s body was slowly regaining feeling two hours later in the Batcave. By the time he’d taken the spare tire from the trunk, bolted it on, and rebolted the second tire that Jason had nearly gotten off, the numbness had spread to his waist, and he was only barely able to pull himself into the car and engage the autopilot for home. 

“Master Bruce, I must insist that you _rest_.” Alfred set down the tray down just harder than he had to, indicating his displeasure with the rattle of china on silver.

Bruce grunted in lieu of an answer. He was sitting down; that was good enough.

Alfred didn’t say any more, but he placed a cup of tea beside Bruce’s wrist quite definitively. Alfred worried too much, but Bruce sighed and sipped the tea to placate him. 

“I take it that your lead on the traffickers did not lead to as much success as you anticipated?” 

Bruce grunted again.

“’A wonderful conversationalist,’ the Gotham Gazette called you,” Alfred griped. “I should tell them to print a retraction.”

Bruce sighed and glanced up at Alfred. “They were moving drugs, not people, and one of them hit me with a tranquilizer dart.”

Alfred nodded. “And the child you are searching for? A victim?”

Bruce frowned in confusion, then realized that he’d left the file he’d created for his little tire thief open. It wasn’t much, just the few things that Bruce knew about him. Went by Jason, mother allegedly dead, father allegedly abusive, his physical appearance. All the things that would be useful in finding out who the kid was and whether he had any living relatives who might take him in if Bruce could find him. 

It was a pointless list, though. Street kids knew how to disappear, and even if Bruce _could_ find out who he was, he wouldn’t find the boy. Bruce could only hope that nearly getting caught by Batman would scare some sense into the kid before he tried to pull a stunt like that with the Joker or Penguin.

“A street kid. Stole one of my tires,” Bruce admitted. “I tried to help him, but he ran off instead, and I couldn’t catch him with my body going numb.”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’ll run into him again.”

Bruce glanced at the stolen jacket draped over the railing by the Batmobile. “No. Gotham’s a big city. He’s gone.”

He was not gone, and he was trying to smash one of the Batmobile’s windows in with a tire iron. 

Bruce couldn’t believe the luck – or _was it_ luck that made their paths cross again? There were two other cars parked along the street, easily visible, vulnerable, and not concealed in the dark shadows of an alley, but it was the Batmobile that Jason was trying to break into. They were nearly on the other end of Crime Alley from where he’d met Jason, too, and most homeless kids didn’t wander that far in a single day.

Not a coincidence, then. Jason had sought out his car.

That would explain the desperate fury behind Jason’s swings as blow after blow clattered uselessly off the nearly invulnerable glass. Bruce watched for several minutes, but despite his repeated failure, Jason didn’t give up and go for one of the two civilian cars on the street. In fact, the longer the assault went on, the more force and dedication Jason threw into every hit. He wasn’t trying to cause damage just out of anger, either, or he would have given up on the window and smashed in the headlights or scratched the paint job, so he was trying to get into the Batmobile for some reason.

The parts of the Batmobile would bring him more money than either one of the civilian cars, even if no one would believe that the parts came from the Batmobile. They were expensive and high tech. Money might not be the motivator, though, since Jason was ignoring the tires that he could obviously have gotten away with.

Finally, the last of Jason’s strength left him. The tire iron clattered to the ground, and he stumbled back against the wall and half-slid, half-collapsed against it. He didn’t even bother to run, even though the morning wasn’t far away, and Batman could be back at any time. After another minute, Jason pulled his knees against his chest and buried his face.

When Jason’s chest started heaving, Bruce decided that it had gone on long enough and dropped from the fire escape he’d been watching from. He landed only a few feet from Jason, placing himself between Jason and the mouth of the alley again.

Jason gasped and scrambled to his feet, snatching up his tire iron and swinging it wildly without even looking. Bruce stepped back, more out of respect than caution; he wasn’t injured anymore, and Jason wouldn’t get the better of him.

When Jason saw who was standing in front of him, he froze in absolute horror. Bruce froze too for a similar reason.

Jason looked terrible. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed, lined with dark bags that hadn’t been so heavy the night before. He was so painfully thin, too, and it was even more obvious without the jacket to obscure just how skeletal the boy was. Bruce had to get him off the street, immediately.

“Jason,” Bruce started, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace.

His words seemed to startle the boy back to his body.

“Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you if you touch me!” Jason shrieked, but he sounded more pleading than demanding. 

“You don’t like my car much, do you?” Bruce scoffed, trying to pull out that confidence the kid had had in spades the night before.

“I don’t care about your _stupid_ car!” Jason swung the tire iron in a deliberate arch at Bruce’s leg, but Bruce took a half-step back and the blow slammed uselessly into the brick wall with a force that probably stung Jason’s hands.

Jason was too panicked to have noticed the pain, though. He backed up as fast as he could, desperately trying to put some distance between them even though there was nowhere to go. His back hit the dilapidated wooden fence at the end of the alley, and his breathing turned erratic.

 _Abusive father_ , Bruce remembered.

Bruce stepped close enough that he would still be easily able to grab Jason if he tried to run, but far enough that he wasn’t crowding into Jason’s personal space. Jason didn’t relax at all, but it would hopefully help Bruce talk him down.

“Jason, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you to-”

Jason dropped the tire iron and threw his hands over his ears with a scream. “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m not listening to you! Please!”

“Jason!” Bruce exclaimed, a bit louder so that Jason could still hear him before he slipped into a full panic attack. “Put your hands down, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason flinched hard. Then, every muscle in his body tensing against the movement, he jerkily lowered his hands back to his side. Bruce was pleased, for a split second, that Jason was finally listening to him, but absolute devastation etched deep into Jason’s being hit him like a punch from Bane.

“Jason…”

“Please,” Jason begged, tears springing to his eyes. “Please, no. Please, I- I don’t want- N-not again, please!”

“Jason, I’m just trying to get you somewhere safe,” Bruce promised, trying unsuccessfully to calm him down.

Tears streamed down Jason’s face, but though his fingers twitched, he didn’t break his white knuckled hold on the hem of his shirt to brush them away. 

“I’m safe _here_ ,” Jason pleaded earnestly, stepping forward. “Please, just give me back my coat, and I promise I’ll never bother anyone again!”

Bruce frowned. “All this for a jacket? I’ll buy you a new jacket if-”

“NO!” Jason shouted desperately. “Please, just give me back my coat! Please, please don’t do this!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce said automatically.

The jacket must have meant something incredibly special to the boy for him to risk so much to retrieve it. It was dangerous for him to be so attached to a relatively easy to replace item, but it was also the perfect way to convince Jason to get into the car peacefully. 

“I don’t have your jacket with me. It’s back in my headquarters.”

“I-I’ll wait,” Jason promised, wiping his eyes as best as he could with his shoulder.

Bruce shook his head. “No, Jason. If you come with me, then we can get your jacket and get you settled into the orphanage tonight.”

Jason’s panic spiked at the mention of the orphanage. He shook his head in denial, and stumbled back, his face going another shade paler. “P-please, please, no.”

Bruce frowned; his chances of getting Jason to stay put in a foster home were looking worse and worse the more frightened Jason became. That Jason might have reason to fear the foster system was almost as concerning as the fact that Jason would probably die without it.

“No, I’m not-” Jason breath hitched, and he clenched his eyes shut against the tears. “I don’t want to be trafficked, please. Please, I- I’ll do anything, but-”

Bruce prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that Jason only feared that possibility from rumors. “I’m not going to traffic you, but you can’t stay out here.”

Jason’s back hit the splintery fence, and like a button had been pushed, all his strength melted into hysterical sobs. Jason kept a white knuckled grip on the hem of his shirt, but slid to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest as he cried with heartbrokenly. 

Bruce had no idea what to do to comfort Jason. He couldn’t promise not to bring him to safety just because the kid was scared of something that wouldn’t happen. Still, Jason would definitely run as soon as Bruce gave him back his jacket, and that would just put Jason right back where he’d started.

…Wayne Manor had good security. Bruce could contain one malnourished child for a few days or weeks, however long it took to get him stable and trusting enough to submit to a foster or group home. Even if Jason did try to run, Wayne Manor was a long way from the streets of Crime Alley, and Bruce would probably be able to catch Jason before he could hide. Jason was worried that Bruce was going to traffic him, but if he didn’t pass him off to anyone else immediately, then, hopefully, Jason would be less frightened. It would mean telling Jason who he was, but he could have J’onn remove those memories when the time came. It was a small price to pay if it meant that Jason would be safe.

“Calm down.” Bruce knelt a few feet away, so that he wasn’t towering over the boy. “I-”

Jason stilled abruptly, then his body went slack and his breathing settled almost unnaturally quickly. The sudden silence hung raw and empty in the air. 

Jason raised his head, tears still running down his cheeks, but his blue eyes glazed over and drying. “Let me go.”

The monotone plea was in stark contrast to both his terrified begging and his angry demands, and it sent a chill down Bruce’s spine. It was like Jason had just…turned off, leaving an empty shell behind. 

Unnerved by the sudden shift, Bruce went back to the basics. “Jason, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anyone traffic you.”

“I hate you,” Jason whispered emotionlessly.

Bruce swallowed. “That’s too bad. I’m still not going to let you live on the streets, though.”

“I’m fine.” Jason was _not_ fine, and Bruce was worried that he needed serious medical attention or psychiatric help.

Bruce shuffled closer, and though Jason didn’t flinch away, he did close his eyes to block Bruce out. “Jason, you need to come with me. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

Jason didn’t respond or open his eyes.

“I’m going to touch your arm and help you up,” Bruce warned him cautiously.

Jason pulled his knees closer to his chest, but he didn’t tense or flinch, so Bruce reached out and laid a hand gently on Jason’s upper arm. Jason let Bruce pull him up, but he made no effort to hold himself up and remained deadweight in Bruce’s hands.

“Come on, Jason. Stand up,” Bruce grunted, trying to set Jason on his feet.

Jason immediately obeyed, but then he stayed rooted to the concrete and wouldn’t follow Bruce.

“Jason, get in the car. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason slowly opened his eyes and looked at Bruce dead on. There was no emotion in that blank stare, but dread all the same. Even as Jason stared at Bruce, he started to inch toward the passenger door. Bruce unlocked the door and helped Jason inside, then went around to his own side, checking the glass Jason had been attacking with such fervor. Barely a scratch on it.

Bruce ducked into the car, then glanced over at his passenger. Jason was still completely limp and still.

“Jason, are you feeling alright?”

“You wanted me calm.”

Bruce frowned. Jason took things very literally, and was apparently going to listen to exactly what Bruce told him to do. What _had_ his father done to him? It made Bruce sick to contemplate. 

“You don’t have to be calm, Jason. I’m sorry. Buckle up.”

Jason inhaled sharply, and all his emotions rushed back to him as he stiffly pulled the strap across his chest. He cut Bruce a furious, terrified glare, then pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face.

“I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for right now, I'm going to try to commit to a weekly schedule, unless I find that I can write chapters faster than that. The schedule is tentatively Sunday.


	3. Jason x His Coat: a Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran out of good excuses a month ago, this was kind of a....like, I know that I of all people should have no trouble hurting characters, but this one was kind of hard to write? Maybe because Jason is scared of something that has happened, and not something that might? Someone is going to tell me that my mental health matters more, and I know, it was also bothering me that I wasn't finishing this. Well, then I kept ignoring this because I knew I'd made a mess with my feverish attempts to write this with covid and bad post-covid fatigue and brain fog. I actually wrote, like, three different versions of this that were virtually identical and kept forgetting that I'd done the previous ones, and then I tried to salvage them, but in the end I just had to write the chapter entirely from scratch. Sorry 'bout that. But, it's up! And extra long, too!
> 
> (Thanks to Def for the chapter title)

Jason was huddled against the door, his tiny frame shaking with suppressed sobs as despair and terror rolled off him in near tangible waves. His little body—so fragile, so thin—was angled away from Bruce, his face tucked against the door like he didn’t want Bruce to be able to see him cry. Probably so that Bruce wouldn’t tell him to “calm down” again.

He felt another twinge of guilt for that, but he’d had no idea just how literally Jason would take the order. Of course the terrified likely abuse victim who probably still thought that Batman was trying to traffic him would behave like that, try to placate Bruce so that he wouldn’t take any negative emotion out on Jason.

Or, at least, that was what Bruce assumed was the cause of the ceaseless crying, but there were other possibilities that would explain other aspects of Jason’s behavior.

 _Rapid mood changes, vacant stare, dizziness, and crying._ Concussion, quite likely. A bad one, too, if Jason’s incoordination getting into the car was any indication. He’d have to give Jason an examination once they reached the Batcave. If the injury was too severe, then he might have to take Jason to Leslie as soon as possible, but Bruce hoped it wouldn’t be that bad. Jason needed sleep, badly. Sleep deprivation, especially in a young child, could also cause all the same symptoms.

Bruce tightened his grip on the wheel. Even if Jason was only behaving so erratically and crying so much because of a head injury, it was still his fault. Jason hadn’t been injured the day before. Whatever had happened was all because he hadn’t been strong enough to stop a little boy – what, nine or ten years old? – from running off into the worst parts of Gotham alone in the middle of the night.

The silence, normally comforting, felt oppressive. Jason didn’t move except for the sharp movements of his chest, and didn’t make a noise except for erratic breathing and the occasional hiccup. It wasn’t until Bruce had pulled onto the bridge to Bristol that Jason lifted his head just enough to look out the window.

“W—where are—” His breath hitched, and his voice wavered with tears. “—are we g—going?”

“Somewhere safe,” Bruce answered, hoping that his level tone would help Jason realize that he wasn’t mad or about to beat him and throw him in the harbor. If Jason had been abused, as Bruce suspected, then he was probably expecting a physical punishment for robbing and injuring Batman.

“Y-you said an orphanage,” Jason stammered, glancing between the windows on either side of the car as though looking for the building. “We’re going the wrong way.”

Bruce hesitated. He had forgotten to tell Jason his amended plan, and wasn’t sure how the boy would feel about it. He’d hated the idea of an orphanage, but how would he feel about staying with Batman at his home? He could just drop Jason off at the front door and pretend that Bruce Wayne owed him a favor so that Jason might not be worried that he was about to be beaten for stealing the tires or attacking the car—but, no, he had to give Jason medical attention, and the equipment he’d need was in the Batcave. Going to a hospital would take too long, especially when everything might just be explained by sleep deprivation—and it would be hard to keep the secret from the boy for a few weeks if they were going to be living together, so he may as well get it over with at the beginning.

“I’m taking you to my headquarters,” he said at last, cutting a quick glance to gauge Jason’s reaction.

Jason’s eyes welled with more tears, and he scrubbed at them with the heels of his hands, and his bottom lip was quivering dangerously. The amount of despair on his face was staggering as his breathing was turning shallow and rapid.

Bruce frowned. “Jason, I’m not going to punish you. You need medical attention, and I can give that to you at my base.”

Jason choked on a sob and curled up even tighter. The choking quickly turned to uncontrollable gasps, like the boy couldn’t breathe at all. Could that happen? Could someone asphyxiate by crying? Dick had cried a lot, especially at first, but never so breathless and desperate.

“Jason?” Bruce asked, a little more urgently.

Jason said nothing, and Bruce cut his eyes around the road to look for a place to pull off, but the shoulder was narrow and the sides of the road were sloped.

“Jason, you don’t have to panic, alright? I need you to-”

“NO!” Jason screamed. “I’m calm! I’m calm! I’m fucking calm!”

Bruce nearly jumped at the sudden outburst, the boy’s voice shattered in a tone between furious and terrified. There was nothing but the sound of Jason’s shuddering breaths as he frantically tried to get himself under control and the utter weight of silence for several minutes.

“Jason, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce promised him at last. Jason hadn’t believed him any of the other times, clearly, but he couldn’t say _nothing_ and just leave Jason to the poor kid’s worst fears.

“Leave me _alone_ ,” Jason spat.

Bruce sighed. “…You’ll see, then. You’re safe now.”

Jason raised his head and shot Bruce a vicious glare, then pointedly buried his face again. “I hate you.”

Batman said nothing to Jason after his outburst, which was even worse than it would have been if he _had_ done something. His previous owners would have smacked him for that, or forced him to—do stuff. That he didn’t want to do. Stuff he thought he’d never have to do again.

Jason’s eyes welled with tears _again_ , but he did his best to blink them back because he _had_ to stop crying, or Batman was going to _make_ him stop crying, and he _hated_ being told what to feel. He hated the disconnect between what he was _thinking_ and the chemicals his brain were making him feel no matter how hard he fought.

_Cry, you dirty whore._

_Enjoy this, bitch._

_Calm down, Jason._

Sometimes, being told what to feel was utterly more violating than everything else they made him do.

A single tear slipped from his eye, and Jason scrubbed it away with his palm as subtly as he could. Hopefully Batman didn’t see the movement, or he might make Jason calm down again, and he might not let Jason up again. Or he might be saving up all the punishment Jason had earned and was earning to make Jason _pay_ later, once they were in Batman’s bed.

Jason had stolen his tires, hit him with a tire iron hard enough to make him fall, and then _run_. Big men like that always hated being told _no_. Then Jason had tried to find his coat because he couldn’t live with that gnawing emptiness in the center of his chest, the anxiety of knowing that someone had an essential part of him just sitting around—or maybe _not_ sitting around, maybe burned or destroy—and never being able to transform again.

Jason had never been able to swim much. His mom—his _human_ mom—had never taken his coat from him, but it was dangerous to swim in Gotham harbor, not just because people might see, but because someone might hit him with a boat. Swimming pools were also off limits because of all the other kids around, but sometimes, she would take him in the middle of the night to the small park a few blocks from their apartment, and she’d sit on the bench and watch him swim around the pond for hours. _That_ was freedom. That was—

Jason sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes, not even bothering to be subtle. So what if Batman saw those tears? They were for his mom, and she deserved them.

There was the slightest swish of the cape, and Jason’s eyes snapped to Batman.

The hero was reaching a hand toward him.

Jason jumped back, pressing himself as far against the door as he could, but Batman just pressed a button in the center console. He gave Jason a head tilt and probably a funny look underneath that mask.

Jason closed his eyes and let the hammering in his heart die down. He hadn’t been going for Jason, then.

“Batman? All is well, I hope,” came a voice, tinny through the speakers, but the person sounded old, with a funny accent.

“Agent A,” Batman responded. “Everything is fine. I’m bringing home a guest. ETA, five minutes. Please prepare a bed and a light meal.”

There was a pause, then the man on the other end, unflustered at the news that Batman had kidnapped someone, answered, “Of course, Batman. I will see to it at once.”

Batman hit the button again, presumably ending the call, and Jason curled back up into the tight little ball he’d been in. He kept expecting Batman to hit him or at least snarl at Jason to get his dirty feet off the car seat, but Batman went back to ignoring him.

Jason took a deep breath as quietly as he could and tried to level off his breathing. He couldn’t have a panic attack, or Batman would _definitely_ tell him how to feel, and then he’d probably punish Jason even more for being a scaredy cat.

 _A bed_ , Batman had said. _Five minutes._

 _A light meal_. Jason hoped it wasn’t for him because the only reason he hadn’t thrown up yet was because there wasn’t anything in his stomach for him to throw up. He hated to pass up food, but if Batman made him eat anything, he was going to hurl, and that would just make the man even more mad.

There was a slight shift, rocking Jason’s body as the car turned. Probably into the driveway for Batman’s lair, where he apparently kidnapped and raped selkies too stupid to get away when they had the chance.

Jason sniffled again and looked up blearily just out of morbid curiosity. It wasn’t like he’d be able to escape or anything. Not from Batman.

They were underground. It was a tunnel. The tunnel was dark.

Jason slammed his head back against his knees.

Great.

Not only was he _never_ going to be able to escape, there was also no chance of the GCPD just happening to stumble across him and whatever other kids Batman had squirreled away. Was that how he got Robin? Maybe Robin was a selkie too. It would explain why he let Batman make him fight crime in _panties_. Jason should have known Batman was a pedo just from that, but he’d wanted…

All the other kids back with his last owners, especially the little ones, had always talked about how Batman and Robin were gonna save them. Jason had never believed it, not really, but he supposed that some of that _stupid_ optimism had rubbed off on him.

In the end, they were saved by chance. The GCPD had found them, and then turned away just long enough for Christie to run into the boss’s office and crack the safe like her daddy had taught her. She’d run back in with their coats and they’d run as fast as they could before the dirty cops could pass them back.

Two months of relief, two months on his own with his coat wrapped around him, and he was back to the realm of nightmares all because he hadn’t thought to zip up his coat. Then again, if he hadn’t left it open, he probably wouldn’t have been able to get away in the first place the night before. He’d have been dragged into the _hero’s_ bed even earlier.

Maybe if he’d gone willingly, though, Batman wouldn’t have taken Jason’s coat away. Now he would never get it back.

The car slowed before coming to a complete stop with a slight lurch that nearly made Jason hurl. Batman turned off the engine, then wordlessly unbuckled and got out of the car.

It was too much to hope for that Batman would just leave him to rot in peace, but he still flinched when Batman slowly opened the passenger door. He didn’t bother to adjust his weight, and he would have fallen if it weren’t for the seatbelt. What did it matter? It was too late, and now they were gonna—

Jason covered his eyes with his hands as the tears poured out without stopping. Batman was so _big_ , and it was gonna hurt—

“Jason,” Batman said with mocking softness. Jason peeked under his arm and saw that the man was kneeling beside him like he was trying to make Jason feel _safe_. “Everything’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Come on out.”

The order hit Jason like a slap, but his body obeyed without his permission, numb fingers fumbling with the buckle, feet that felt like distant spots of pressure sliding out and pulling the rest of his body with them.

Jason only realized that he’d been swaying when Batman grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

Batman stayed crouched where he was, frowning up at Jason, and suddenly Jason wanted nothing more than for that nausea to come back just so he could puke all over Batman’s frowny little face. It was all _his_ fault that Jason was such a wreck! He shouldn’t be so upset that his new little fucktoy was dizzy!

“Alright, Jason, let’s check you out,” Batman said, but instead of stripping Jason and tossing him onto the hood of the car, Batman stood and gently nudged Jason’s shoulder, turning him so—

Jason’s throat tightened, and breathing was suddenly almost impossible. Batman was moving him across a wide floor to a small area with two medical beds set up. Was one of those the one that Batman had told the old guy to set up? Or was Batman just that eager to get started?

Jason stumbled when he choked on a sob a few feet away from the bed, but Batman caught him.

“Are you dizzy?” Batman asked, setting him back on his feet and looking intently into Jason’s eyes. “Does your head hurt?”

Jason closed his eyes and fought the urge to shake Batman’s hands off his body. It was too late; he just had to take it, and maybe when it was over, he wouldn’t be that hurt.

“No,” Jason whispered.

“Alright, then. Sit up here,” Batman ordered, picking Jason up abruptly and sitting him down on the edge of the bed.

Jason gasped at the sudden movement and the way that Batman moved him like he was made of paper. He was so _strong_. If he had any of those freaky kinks some of his clients had about slapping their selkie around, Jason was going to die a terrible and _miserable_ death.

At least he’d be dead, though, because if Batman _wasn’t_ kinky like that, then Jason was just going to be stuck with him forever. Maybe the Joker would be really nice and kill Batman off for him, and Jason would be able to find his coat wherever Batman had hidden it in the _massive_ cave they were in. If it was even there. At least the fact that he had to follow orders meant that Batman hadn’t burned it or anything.

Yet.

Batman grabbed something off a small table beside the bed and turned back to Jason, standing in front of his knees.

“Look into this light, Jay. This will just take a minute,” was all Batman said before he clicked the end of an unnecessarily bright penlight and shone it directly into Jason’s eyeball.

Jason squinted in protest, but he couldn’t blink, which was just _annoying_. He didn’t know what Batman was doing, unless it was a fetish. If Batman had a fetish of just _annoying_ people, Jason was going to find a way to murder him. He’d probably have to do that anyway, but he’d have a lot more motivation if Batman was just a brat.

Batman moved the light so it was shining in Jason’s other eye, then held up one finger right next to the light.

“Try to follow my finger with your eye,” Batman told him.

Jason did as he was told, annoyed that he couldn’t roll his eyes because the order was just _stupid_ , and Batman nodded, his face and posture unreadable.

“You don’t have a concussion,” Batman said, like that was an actual thing he’d been worried about for some reason.

Jason restrained the small huff—if he backtalked then over something dumb, he might get banned from talking, and he wouldn’t be able to beg for mercy later.

Batman stepped back and walked over to a large cabinet. Inside were a bunch of medical tools and shit, but Jason couldn’t see what Batman was grabbing. A condom, maybe, or maybe a needle so he could check Jason for STDs, or maybe it was drugs. Batman confiscated enough drugs that he could get Jason completely hooked without needing to pay a penny, and then Jason would be trapped with Batman even if he _did_ manage to steal back his coat.

Jason screwed his eyes up and tried his best not to cry, but tears still leaked through, harder once he heard that telltale small swish of the cape and the looming presence that stopped directly in front of Jason.

“I need you to open your mouth, Jason,” Batman told him.

Jason’s breath hitched and his eyes flew open. What was he—was he supposed to get on his knees? Were they kissing? Was Batman going to gag him? It hadn’t been a direct order, so he didn’t have to follow it, but it was _going_ to be a direct order if he didn’t obey, but he didn’t want to, he didn’t want it, he didn’t—

He couldn’t _breathe_.

Jason drew his knees to his chest and hugged them tight, trying and trying to pull in breath, but it all got stuck on the terror building up in his throat. He could hear sobbing, distantly, and knew it was him, and _god_ , Batman was going to beat him for that, he was going to hurt Jason because Jason didn’t want to be raped, and he wanted his mom, but his mom couldn’t help him because his mom was _dead_ , and, and, and—

“Please, no,” Jason begged. “Please, please, _no_.”

He couldn’t hear Batman anymore or feel his presence around his own panic, but he did feel when a giant hand enclosed one of his shoulders again. Jason sobbed harder.

“Jason, I’m not going to hurt you. You have to—“ Batman stopped. “ _Please_ calm down. Match your breathing to mine, alright?”

Batman’s hand left his shoulder and moved down to his wrist, then pulled Jason’s hand slowly to the hard fabric over Batman’s chest. Jason flinched, but he couldn’t yank his hand back so he didn’t even try, and now he had to follow Batman’s orders on how he was allowed to _breathe_?

“In for four,” Batman told him, and Jason immediately breathed in for four seconds despite his racing heart and the fear still tight in his throat. “Hold for seven.” And then he couldn’t breathe for seven seconds. He couldn’t _breathe_ , he was going to _die_. “And out for eight.” Jason had to breathe out slowly to make the small breath he’d gotten last eight seconds out, and it was _hard_. “Good, Jay. Let’s do that again.”

Batman made him do the breathing weirdly until Jason could have done it even if he weren’t being ordered. His chest felt less tight and awful, and his head was stuffed up with terror and encroaching numbness.

Batman let go of Jason’s hand, but the order to follow Batman’s breathing was still in place, so Jason had to watch carefully to keep up. Did Batman really want him to keep copying his breathing? Maybe Robin _wasn’t_ a selkie, and Batman didn’t know completely how literally things had to be said and _not_ said yet, and he wasn’t really thinking things all the way through.

Jason took a risk and stammered, his voice cut off by inhales and exhales matching Batman’s, “Can I stop breathing like you?”

Batman looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes, Jason. I only meant to calm you down. You don’t have to keep following my breathing anymore. You don’t need to take things so literally, son. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason’s nose wrinkled involuntarily in disgust at the word _son_ , and Batman sighed.

“I’ll prove it, okay?”

Batman held up a small paper package. It was only a few inches long, but it was less than an inch wide. Not…not a condom, then.

Batman tore the paper and pulled out…a q-tip? All that fuss for a _q-tip_? Were rich people q-tips just _special_ , so they had to get them specially _individually_ wrapped?

Was Batman not fucking him yet because his _ears were dirty?_

The disgust soured into offense. Jason knew that he shouldn’t be offended, but _seriously_ , his ears were _fine_.

Batman didn’t stick the q-tip in Jason’s ears or his own. Instead, he opened his mouth and ran the fuzzy part of the q-tip over the inside of his cheek. After a few swipes, he pulled it out and showed Jason, then dropped the q-tip and the paper in a small trashcan.

“I just want to run a couple tests, Jason. It’s not going to hurt, I promise. Will you let me?” Batman said, like Jason had a choice.

While he had the illusion of free will, he may as well take it. It was slightly less degrading, only taking an option that you knew you had to rather than being forced to take the option.

Jason clenched and unclenched his fingers a moment before he took a deep breath. It would be good to know if he had any diseases from the jerks who’d bought him before, and Batman’s operation hinted at wealth, his own or someone else’s. Either way, it meant that Batman would be able to treat him, rather than just killing him or turning him out like diseased kids on the streets got.

Or maybe Batman would just kill him and go find himself another selkie.

“Fine,” he whispered at last.

Batman went back to the cabinet and got another q-tip in the special packaging, then tore it open. Jason, fighting every instinct, slowly lowered his jaw. He couldn’t bear to look, to see lust on Batman’s face even though he could barely see any of it at all, so he closed his eyes tight again.

The q-tip felt weird as it swabbed and rolled in his mouth, but then it was out, and Batman was holding it carefully so that the end wasn’t touching anything.

“I’m going to be right back, Jason. Stay put until I get back,” Batman said, more firmly than he’d been speaking. Jason’s stomach churned. That tone probably meant that when the tests were done— _immediately_ , they would— “The caves can be very dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. They can be dangerous if you _do_ know what you’re doing, and they’re not a place for children.”

Jason scowled, but he didn’t say anything. Batman glowered only another moment or so before seemingly deciding that Jason was sufficiently cowed—he wasn’t, he just also wasn’t _stupid_ enough to go get lost in a miserable dark cave and make Batman even more mad at him—and walking away.

Batman sat down at a giant ass computer and started typing, but Jason was too far away to see the words. He did see Batman put the q-tip into some kind of test tube, but he couldn’t see what happened after that.

Jason watched Batman for what felt like forever, but was probably only ten or so minutes. Time always seemed to stretch on forever when he was tired or miserable, and he was both. He hadn’t been able to snatch more than a few minutes at a time all the last day because of the terror of losing his coat. Suddenly, every shadow that normally hid him from traffickers and thieves and run of the mill rapists hid _Batman_ , come to get him and forced him into a life of slavery all over again. He wished that he could just _sleep_. Maybe he could promise to be real good tomorrow if Batman let him sleep, just the one night.

But Batman could just _order_ him to be real good, so it was a useless promise. Jason just had to take it and hope that Batman didn’t hurt him too much so he could sleep later.

Batman stood abruptly, snapping Jason from his thoughts, and walked quickly back towards Jason.

When he was halfway across the space between them, Batman lowered his cowl, revealing his face for the first time. He had black hair and blue eyes, but his features were almost immediately obscured by the tears wobbling in the corners of Jason’s eyes.

Jason buried his face in his hands and tried not to cry. He needed to not cry; Batman was coming back and he was going to make Jason stop crying the hard way if Jason didn’t cut it out, but Jason couldn’t stop. It was done. Batman would never, _ever_ let him get away now that he’d seen his face.

Batman approached soundlessly, but Jason could still feel him hovering above him even before he said, “Jason Todd.”

Jason snapped his head up. “How do you know that?!”

He didn’t even both to try to make the demand polite or respectful, which usually worked better with freaks who raped kids.

Jason didn’t tell _anyone_ his last name because then people could find him or they might try to send him back to his _dad_. He’d certainly never told _Batman_ of all people, so how did he _know_?

Batman pulled a box of tissues from the medical cabinet and set them next to Jason without answering the question. His face was unreadable, and not being able to see anything right with all the tears in his eyes wasn’t helping either.

Jason snatched a tissue from the box and dried his eyes quickly, blowing his nose as an afterthought. He wasn’t very intimidating dripping snot.

“I ran your DNA through the local databases of violent offenders, and found a match. Your father, Willis Todd, has several violent offenses under his belt, the most recent of them landing him with a five year sentence in Black Gate,” Batman said.

 _That_ was what the stupid q-tip thing was testing? Why did Batman even _care_ whose kid he was fucking as long as it wasn’t his own?

“He’s in jail?” Jason mumbled.

He usually was, but something in him loosened. It shouldn’t have, because it wasn’t like his dad would have known to look for Jason with Batman or even bothered to look in the first place, but his dad being back in jail meant that he wouldn’t be able to hurt Jason any more. He hadn’t been in jail half a year ago or so, which meant that he must have gotten tossed in pretty recently.

“Yes, Jason. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like he wanted me anyway,” Jason huffed, looking at the floor.

Batman’s posture shifted slightly, softening enough that Jason could see it out of the corner of his eye. Jason tensed, waiting for a hand on his thigh or shoulder, or—

“I’m very sorry about that, Jason,” Batman said. He was a good actor. “Can I ask you a few more questions?”

Jason glared at him. He didn’t _want_ to do questions. He just wanted everything over with for the night so he could _sleep_ , but apparently Batman had a lot of weird kinks.

“Why?” he snapped.

Batman raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “I need to know a few things about you before we turn in for the night. I promise, as soon as we’re done, I’ll give you your jacket and you can go to bed. Do we have a deal?”

Jason’s eyes widened. He was gonna…

No, it was a lie. He wasn’t going to give Jason his coat back; it was all just a mind games because Batman was just as crazy as the psychos he tossed in Arkham. Some of his owners did that sometimes, promised to free him if he’d just suck them off or be extra good on his back. He’d stopped buying it after the first couple times, but it still hurt then and it still hurt _now_.

Or maybe he really was going to give Jason back his coat.

They’d driven way out of Gotham, probably into Bristol, which would explain everything around him, and Batman was huge. Jason wouldn’t be able to fight him even if he _did_ have his coat. Some of his clients sometimes wanted to pretend that Jason was actually his boyfriend or some shit; maybe Batman was into that shit too and wanted Jason to pretend that he was oh so happy to be living with him.

Either way, Batman wanted to give the illusion of Jason having control over his immediate future. If he _wasn’t_ going to give Jason back his coat, then it would just be a few minutes for a short power trip, but if he _was_ going to give Jason back his coat…

Jason couldn’t imagine anything worse than losing his coat again, and he was sure that Batman was going to take it away to punish him if he resisted or tried to run, but he couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more than to be a complete being again with his own skin, both sets, on his body. He could behave, he’d have to anyway, but he could _really_ behave if it mean getting to keep his coat.

Jason worried at his lip for a few more seconds before finally deciding, “Fine. What do you want?”

Batman smiled, just slightly, and it made Jason want to spit on him, but he didn’t.

“Do you have any other friends or family who could take you in?” Batman asked.

Jason frowned. “What? No.”

Why was he even asking? That didn’t make any sense at all, like he was just going to _give_ Jason away.

…Unless he was trying to find other selkies.

Heh, stupid Batman. Jason didn’t know any other selkies from before, and he didn’t know where any of the other kids had ended up. Jason wasn’t going to tell Batman where to find a pod of selkies even if Batman tried to _make_ him.

“Alright.” Batman didn’t seem too disappointed. In fact, he seemed a little pleased. Maybe he’d _really_ been asking because he wanted to make sure that no one was going to be looking for Jason. Not that anyone was going to be checking with Batman or even knew where to check if they somehow knew that Batman was a pedophile kidnapper. “The police looked for you when your father was arrested three months ago, but there was no record of you being in school since early November. Your father said that you ran away. Is that true?”

From the traffickers, sure. Jason didn’t really want Batman to know that he was…experienced, so he didn’t want to mention them. He just nodded, and Batman seemed to accept that as an answer.

Batman tensed slightly before the next question. “Jason, has your father ever abused you? Physically, emotionally, or sexually?”

 _Well, he sold me to a bunch of traffickers who rented me out to be raped every night,_ the snarky part of him said, but Batman might not appreciate that, and Jason needed to get his coat back.

“He slapped me ‘round sometimes,” he mumbled. That wasn’t…like, _real_ abuse. That was just discipline, but sometimes people called it abuse when the traffickers in the foster system wanted new kids.

Batman frowned. “Is that all he did?”

Jason nodded. That was all he was admitting to, at least, unless Batman wanted to force Jason to answer.

Batman sighed and looked Jason in the eye. His gaze didn’t sweep up and down Jason’s body like a normal client’s, but still Jason felt like he was being taken apart with those eyes.

“Jason, tell me the truth,” Batman ordered. Jason flinched. “Would you stay at an orphanage if I could guarantee it was safe?”

Jason bit his lip and resisted for a moment. If Batman really _was_ a trafficker, he might send Jason to an “orphanage.” The brothels might mean more work, but they were also more likely to get raided by the police, and _that_ would mean that Jason had a much higher chance of being able to run away.

The magic pulled at his throat, constricting as his disobedience stretched out until he was finally forced to spit, “No,” or pass out.

“I didn’t think so.” Batman sighed. “Those were all my questions. I’ll go get your jacket now.”

Jason’s eyes widened as Batman walked away. He was— He was really gonna give it to Jason? Or was he just going to dangle it in front of his eyes and torture him? Would—

Batman walked back to his computer and pulled something red and fabric from over the arm of the chair. Jason hadn’t even noticed it before, but that was…

Fresh tears welled in his eyes. That was _his coat_.

Batman walked back quickly, and Jason made an aborted move for the coat before pulling back. He couldn’t let Batman see just how much he wanted it, or Batman would know even more how he could hurt Jason.

Batman held Jason’s coat in one fist, but he wasn’t holding it out to Jason, even though they were right next to each other.

 _Of course not,_ his smart side snapped at his stupid optimistic side. _He’s going to make you prove you can be good without being told or he’s not going to trust you._

Jason’s face screwed up and he reached for another tissue to hide his tears and anger.

“If you’ll come with me, we can go upstairs,” Batman said carefully. “We’ll get you a meal, a shower, and a warm bed for the night. How does that sound?”

“And then I can have my coat?” Jason whimpered helplessly.

“And then I’ll give you your jacket. I promise.”

 _You said you would give it to me once I answered your questions_ , Jason didn’t say. If he got it at all, then he would be overjoyed, and he wouldn’t get it if he pissed off his new owner.

Jason bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling and crumpled the tissue. “C—can’t we just do it _here_?”

He cast a glance at the stairs. He’d rather drag himself up them fucked raw than trudge up them with dread weighing heavy in his gut. He just wanted it _over with_.

Batman frowned again, his eyebrows coming together in a pretense of confusion. “Do _what_ here?”

He was going to make Jason spell it out?

Jason took a deep breath that rattled around a suppressed sob. If— If it meant that he got his coat, then fine. _Fine_ , Jason would do _anything_ for his coat.

“Y—you’re gonna f—fuck me,” Jason stammered as levelly as he could.

Batman stumbled back like he’d been physically repulsed. Had Jason said something wrong? Was Batman expecting Jason to be some oblivious virgin? Maybe that was why he wanted to know what his dad had done to him. Well, it wasn’t Jason’s _dad_ who’d done it, but Jason was plenty experienced, and he knew how these things work.

“ _Jason_ ,” Batman said, like he couldn’t _believe_ Jason had just said that. “For a _jacket_? What were you _thinking,_ getting in the car with someone you thought would— What in the world is so special about an easily replaced _jacket_.”

“But—” Jason’s eyes blew wide. There was no way. There was _NO WAY._

Batman kept calling Jason’s coat a _jacket_ instead of a _coat_ or a _skin_ , and yeah, Jason’s coat…it did look like a jacket in the form Jason willed it to take, but no one ever called it a jacket because everyone who commented on it in the first place knew that it was a coat.

But Batman didn’t _know._

He was just _INSANELY BOSSY._

Jason snatched his coat out of Batman’s unsuspecting hand and pulled it back against his chest, staring at Batman with wild eyes, daring him to prove Jason wrong, daring him to wrestle Jason down and rape him anyways.

Batman just stared back at Jason with wide eyes, like he was actually _shocked_ that Jason thought he was about to be fucked for his coat— _jacket—_ And he wasn’t doing anything to Jason, because apparently he wasn’t _going_ to do anything to Jason, or he would have when Jason offered it to him.

“This is mine!” Jason screamed desperately. “Don’t touch it!”

Batman blinked hard before the shock seemed to melt into pity. Normally, that would have pissed Jason off, but it _wasn’t lust,_ he wasn’t going to be fucked, Batman was just _so weird_.

“Jason, I won’t touch your jacket,” Batman promised, and Jason curled up tighter around it in desperate relief. He couldn’t put it on without uncurling and leaving himself vulnerable to it being stolen again, but it was _right there,_ and he was nearly whole again, with all of his body and being so close and his autonomy his own.

Batman stepped closer, and Jason flinched, but then he bent down, putting Jason sitting on the bed a bit taller than him.

“Jason, I would never touch a child sexually, even if the child said I could. I beat people who touch kids like that into the ground. You are worth _so much_ more than that jacket, but I’m so sorry you thought I wouldn’t return your property without compensation,” Batman told him seriously.

Jason couldn’t take those eyes, firm in their resolve like he actually gave a damn about Jason, like he thought that Jason was _worth_ giving a damn over. He’d meant it, hadn’t he? The entire time, everything he’d said about not being mad, not hurting Jason, he wasn’t gonna beat Jason either. He wanted…he wanted Jason safe? Jason hadn’t been safe since his mom died.

It was too much. Jason sniffled once before he buried his face behind his knees and in the folds of his coat and broke down into hysterical sobs of relief.

Batman _did_ actually give a damn about Jason.

And he didn’t _know_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: Newkadia.com, a used comics online store that I've used before and can vouch for, is currently having a month-long sale on DC comics, 30% off. They also have special weekend deals (40% off female-lead comics, 40% off Batman.) They're trustworthy and reliable, and if you want to get some comics while saving money, check them out. No shame if you just read fanon and wiki, but if you want to, like, learn a specific thing (I got Cass's Batgirl comics because idk the timeline on her learning to speak/getting adopted)


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